In front of my home in Peshawar, my late husband made a garden of roses. The roses disappeared slowly since his death in August 2012. No one looked after them. Only the cluster of lofty, towering trees remain. Sparrows, doves, pigeons, crows, cuckoos and eagles have nests among the sheltering trees.
Early in the morning, before the sun rises, a cacophony of sounds emerge from the trees heralding another morning. There is a rise, and fall as hundreds of birds chatter incessantly for a brief period.
Do you think it can be called murmuration?
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.